


Come Out and Play

by Dark_K



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Demon!Stiles, F/M, M/M, Stiles is a demon, guilt trips GALORE, lots and lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_K/pseuds/Dark_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's said you never really know what you have until you lose it. Well, they lost it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I’ve got Pale Horses in the works, but this idea grabbed my ankle, and wouldn’t stop BEGGING to be written, so here we are.
> 
> I used the sentences from the gif in a small part of the story, but those lines aren’t mine. Just the twist in this twisted plot. This shouldn’t be a long story, five or sex chapters tops (I hope).  
> I hope you enjoy it!

 

**This story was inspired by[this gifset ](http://darkjan.tumblr.com/post/29933292393/im-too-good-for-someone-like-you-anyway-when)– I don’t know who originally made it, but THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**  
**

 

**Come Out and Play**

**PROLOGUE**

He _reeked_ of sulfur.

There was an amused smile at the corner of his mouth, not a Stiles smile, but something a bit too old, a bit too bitter, a bit too expectant for them all to figure something out, and none of them really _knew_ what it was.

They were all in the forest. This was supposed to be just a meeting, just something to finally put their minds at ease – Gerard was done for, the Alpha Pack had gone away, they were _fine_ , they were _safe_ , and it didn’t matter that they weren’t all of the same pack, they could work around that, Derek knew.

What he _didn’t_ know was why Stiles felt… damned. Dirty.

Scott was giving his best friend a _wide_ berth, as if he knew there was something very wrong there, but couldn’t put his finger on it. Lydia seemed pale and broken, and she kept glancing around her, as if she was feeling something, but didn’t know where whatever it was was coming from.

It was coming from Stiles.

A wave of maliciousness, of… of _evil_.

It was making _everyone_ in the clearing uncomfortable, as if the very air around them was tighter, colder or maybe hotter, just… _not right_.

“Okay, I think we’ve stood in silence for long enough, what the hell happened to your side-kick, McCall?” Peter finally blurted out, uncomfortable enough that even his usual sarcasm didn’t quite reach the tone of his voice.

And that’s when Stiles laughed. A chuckle, maybe, a small laugh, an _evil_ laugh, low and dangerous, and his eyes looked at every single one of them, looking with his head down, peeking through his lashes, a smirk in his mouth the whole time.

His eyes stopped at Derek, and they _shifted_. Only a second, less than a second, but they were _pitch black_ , full and strange.

Derek took an involuntary step towards Stiles and then stopped.

“I really think you should reassess the whole sidekick thing, Peter, darling.” He smirked, looking away from Derek to pin his uncle under his gaze – with Stiles’s eyes now, “You see, I’m not a sidekick. And if anyone was ever the clever one in this duo, it certainly was Stiles and not Mogli over there.”

“What did you do to him?” Lydia’s voice was cutting and intense, and incredibly afraid.

The thing snorted.

“ _I_ did to him? _Me_? I listened to him, you cold hearted bitch. I heard him. I listened to his cries, and his temper, and his _fear_ , and I saw his _certainty_ that he wasn’t good enough for any of you, just because he wasn’t quite so _special_.” He snorted again, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “As if howling to the moon makes someone powerful. You’re all _children_ , even lying, cheating, poor Peter over there, vying for a power you can’t even understand, let alone tame, thinking you’re _special_ because you turn into a beast. I’ll show Stiles what power is. And maybe you’ll all learn a lesson along with him.” He finished, smirking again.

“You let him GO!” Scott screamed, trying to get to what used to be Stiles, but the thing merely waved a hand, and Scott went flying into a tree, the resounding crack of the impact echoing in the woods.

Lydia had both hands over her mouth, as if trying to stop herself from screaming, and Derek went to Stiles, looking at him firmly.

“What do you want? What _are_ you?” He said quietly and threateningly, and the thing laughed again.

“You _do_ know he has a crush on you, right? His heart speeding when you’re near him, his breath catching, his thoughts before he goes to bed going to those two hours you spent in his arms in that pool, the way he feels guilty that he _likes_ when you shove him around… You know that, wolfboy. Of course you know that. And you did _nothing_. This kid? The truth is this kid was already broken and miserable before I got here. None of you noticed. _You_ didn’t notice, Derek, I think that hurt Stiles the most, you know? He begged for this, in the end.” He stopped talking and came closer to Derek, face to face, barely a breath away from each other, and smiled, wide and cruel, “And now you’re all fucked.”

He backed away from Derek, and the thing closed his eyes, his body going slack, and Derek acted instinctually, grabbing his body before he hit the ground.

Scott got up from the ground, and Lydia, Peter, Isaac and Jackson came closer to them, looking at Stiles carefully.

Finally, he blinked once, then again, and opened his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“What am I doing here?” He asked, his voice weak and confused and so very small, Derek could feel his heart shrinking in his chest.

They really _were_ fucked.


	2. In the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hum, some warnings/notices that I didn’t post last chapter, because I was too anxious to post it. Hehehe. So, the demons from this universe are pretty much what demons are in Supernatural universe, only a LOT less organized. You’ll get what in this chapter.  
> This was supposed to be a oneshot (yeah, I know, I have a MAJOR problem about writing little), so it won’t be a LONG story, six chapters tops (I hope).  
> The name of the story comes from the song Universe, by Kids of 88, and it’s in the OST for Season 1 of Teen Wolf.  
> Obviously, nothing you recognize belongs to me, including the idea of a demon!Stiles. Thank Tumblr for that.

**Come Out and Play**

**In the beginning**

He got hurt.

That was pretty much how it all had begun, and Stiles wouldn’t even try to deny it if he was ever confronted about this – he got hurt in a stupid way, in a stupid fight he shouldn’t even be near but was anyway, because, you know, _all of his friends_ were there, and he might not be a hero, but he wasn’t going to sit tight at home as his friends faced a whole _pack of Alphas._

Things were pretty bad too – the Alphas had killed whatever it was that Gerard had become after his failed bite from Derek, and the hunters wanted revenge. Chris Argent, Allison’s dad, had actually been the one to clean up _that_ mess, recognizing that his father had gone a bit too far in his quest for survival. Which left Derek’s pack to deal with the four crazy Alpha wolves who were trying to either recruit Derek or kill him and all the other wolves from Beacon Hills.

Not exactly the most peaceful times to live in.

And as all of this was going down, Stiles was struggling. He didn’t feel right. He wasn’t… happy. He could barely remember a time when he had _been_ happy, as happy as Scott was when Allison was with him, or as Jackson was when Lydia took him back and helped him through his very frustrating first weeks as a wolf. Stiles didn’t know _happy_.

He knew content in a moment, accomplished when he did something right for the pack or his dad, even glad when another day went by without anyone dying or being threatened with murder, but not really _happy_. No since his mother had died.

Things with his dad weren’t the best lately either. He was always out late, running around and trying to save Scott or Derek or Jackson or Lydia, and being put aside _a lot_ now that Scott had a werewolf BFF in Isaac, and being brushed as unnecessary now that, through Jackson, Derek’s pack had Lydia for researching duty, and even Peter’s presence didn’t quite manage to frighten her enough not to be beside her boyfriend.

You know, the one who was able to be cured from Kanima-disease by her love.

But all in all, Stiles thought he was managing, he had a grip, and he talked to the school’s counselor about some things, but not all of it, because he didn’t… want to.

That’s what it boiled up to be: he didn’t _want_ to talk about his fears of being abandoned by Scott, or being unnecessary to Derek – whom, by the way, he seemed to be developing the _hugest_ crush on, and wasn’t that just the icing on his freak cake? – or how he could kind of tell that his dad was pretty much done for with him.

Things were never really the same after his father temporarily lost his job because of Stiles’ behavior with Jackson. It was like his father simply assumed now that Stiles _would_ be in trouble, _big time_ trouble, any time he was out of the house, and that hurt him deeply, because after all, it wasn’t that he went looking for trouble because he _wanted_ to, but because he had to.

To keep them, his friends, close. So that he wouldn’t be… alone. He knew he wasn’t as special as they were, he wasn’t a werewolf, he wasn’t a genius with supernatural immunity, and he wasn’t a super hunter with incredible skills.

He was just a kid with ADHD, a lot of free time in his hands, a little cleverness, and a burning desire to _be needed_. He wasn’t exactly _proud_ of the way he was lying to his dad day in day out, or the fact that his father didn’t trust him anymore – even if things were said as a joke, Stiles could take a hint. The night Matt attacked, the way his father had said he trusted Scott, that was _burning_ inside of him till now.

But he tried to let it go, and he tried not to let his freakishness and weakness show.

Hence him, in the middle of a supernatural fight among werewolves. Him, the human, in the middle of it. Derek’s pack and Scott won by a very tight spot, and he was hurt. He didn’t like thinking about it, it involved his blood, and claws, and a jaw snapping way too close to his throat, and when he closed his eyes at night he could still feel the breath of the beast which almost killed him.

He had gone to the hospital for stitches, with Scott on his tail, so that they could make up a convincing story – his convincing story had been about him convincing Scott to go walk through the woods at night, looking for wolves, and him being bitten by some animal there. He took his stiches like a man, and took his father’s very disapproving glare, and refused the painkiller they wanted to put him on, because it was just a small _gash_ on his side. He could deal.

Scott was ordered to take Stiles’s jeep home, while the Sheriff and Stiles went home in his dad’s car – you know, the _Sheriff_ ’s car.

His dad was silent.

He didn’t utter a word the whole way home, and it was making Stiles fidgety and achy – ok, maybe the ache was from the cut and the stitches, but the silence was _killing_ him.

His jeep was on the driveway, but Scott hadn’t stuck around. The keys were under the mat, and his dad opened the door, got in, and just… stopped. His hands were on the back of the couch, his head hung low, and he looked as if he was just so… _defeated_.

“Say something?” Stiles said quietly, because seeing his dad like that was _exactly_ what he didn’t want to see. That’s why he lied, and that’s why he hadn’t even told any of them about the beating Gerard had given him. Boyd and Erica hadn’t said a word about it either, and now that they had both gone Omega, it wasn’t like Derek was dying to talk to them. And Stiles wasn’t going to tell.

His father sighed, but didn’t turn around, and Stiles fidgeted some more, dying to say something, but he didn’t know what.

“I’m sorry. I know it was a stupid idea, I just… thought it’d be fun.” The boy said, and not even he was buying his excuse, but his father was apparently tired of listening to his half-assed excuses all the time, because that got him to turn around, his head still low, and his arms crossed in front of his chest, leaning against the back of the couch.

“Fun? Really, Stiles, that’s what you’ve got to say? I thought it’d be fun?” His voice was colder than usual, and that never boded well for him – it wasn’t that his father would yell and scream, it was that he was so disappointed, like that night he had come home without his badge, “Why do you do this, Stiles? I’m trying to get you, but you are making this whole thing _so damn difficult_.” Stiles looked down, fighting his desire to tell his father everything, if only to stop him from looking so… _devastated_ , “It’s not easy, you know, dealing with a kid like you, all by myself, but you didn’t use to get in this much trouble, and now I don’t know what to DO with you, Stiles.” The sheriff’s voice was becoming more agitated and angry, and his dad was never really _angry_ at him, so this was bad. Really, really bad, “And now you try to sell me this stupid idea that you thought it’d be fun. Nobody, Stiles, not even _you_ would think it’d be fun to go poking around the woods on a school night, and I’m the Sheriff, I got calls of a disturbance in the woods earlier today. What were you doing there, Stiles? What are you doing AT ALL these past few months?”

His father looked ready to either scream himself hoarse or shake Stiles out of his lying, cowering self, but Stiles couldn’t say anything.

He couldn’t betray everyone like that. So he just shrugged and looked down.

“You are so deep in this thing you’ve got going on you can’t even see how much trouble you are getting into, how we are being perceived in this town. I’ve got a job in an _elected post_ , Stiles. Having you being a delinquent is not helping anything here! And you are always in the middle of these messes; you are always around the murders, and the missing people, and the crazy teenagers! What are you doing? Why are you doing this? You were never easy to deal with, but this is just…” His father closed his mouth when he saw Stiles flinch. On the ‘you were never easy’ part, because, yeah, Stiles always knew he wasn’t easy.

That was pretty much all of his problems nowadays.

The fact that no one would stick around for long, because he was just a little too broken, and hadn’t any special enough skills to make it worth it for anyone to stick around him.

His father looked down, and ran his hands through his hair.

“I just wish your mother was here.” He muttered, and Stiles actually took a step back, because that was something that haunted every single bad dream he had ever had with his dad. And John was staring at him as if he _wanted_ to apologize, but he didn’t.

And Stiles couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he just tucked tail and ran to his room, closing the door carefully behind him.

John knew Stiles had taken his words the wrong way, the way his son did every now and again. He meant he wanted Stiles’s mom to _help_ him deal with Stiles, but he would never, ever, wish Stiles had died instead of Sarah.

He promised himself he would apologize the next morning.

The only thing was next morning would be a whole night too late.

**_________________________**

Stiles closed the door behind him, and let himself fall against it, fighting the tears in his eyes unconsciously. Damn, but that hurt.

He had been nine when his mother died. Back then he didn’t take any medication for his ADHD, they had simply dismissed his poor learning skills as a very active child, a trouble maker in the making. He was a nightmare as a child, he couldn’t stand still, and it was very hard for him to focus on anything for longer than a few seconds. His grades were simply _poor_ , and his behavioral issues had filled many a file in his school.

His mom’s disease had been long and tortuous, and so very hard on everyone around them, but Stiles didn’t quite understand what was going on. He knew what cancer was, he also knew it could kill someone, but he couldn’t _grasp_ the concept that his mother might be dying.

Also, he developed even greater focusing issues with all the stress. So his dad pretty much had do juggle with dealing with his mom’s disease and treatment, and being called away from his job three to four times a week to go to his school because of something Stiles had done. He used to hear, back then, a few of his classmates’ parents talking about _poor John and that wretched child_ that was the death of his mom. He heard that once, actually, and it had stuck. He tried to be good, but it was hard – it was damn _impossible_ , and his mom tried to smile at him, and tell him none of it was his fault.

And at the very end, she had told him to be brave and take care of his dad, and then she was gone.

Those days were a blur to him, he couldn’t see anything straight back then, and his dad’s voice was no comfort at all. Soon after that, John had developed a drinking problem – it hadn’t lasted long, it actually only lasted until the first time he had found Stiles with a cut on his hand from trying to break a whisky bottle, and failing in doing so – but it had happened. A few weeks after his mom had died the whole _house_ was a wreck, and he was having panic attacks. His dad had to man up and take him to see a few doctors, and in seeing them to treat him for his panic issues they found out about his ADHD and he started taking his medication for it, which made him a _lot_ better – if only a little too late.

He was convinced that he could have spared his mom’s life if he hadn’t been so troublesome back then. If she had had a more calm place to rest, if his dad could have paid more attention to her than taking care of him, if she could have rested a whole night without worrying about her troubled son – maybe she would be alive.

And in the dark of the night in those first months, he would think that maybe, just maybe, his dad would have preferred Stiles dead instead of his mother. He whispered the question to his dad once, but he never answered, already sleeping by the time Stiles had gathered the courage to ask.

When he started seeing things a bit more clearly, when his childhood self was completely left behind, he was eleven, and his panic attacks were finally under control. He was taking his meds, and he started trying to make good on his promise to his mom: to take care of his dad. And mostly he had succeeded, until the whole werewolf thing happened.

Because Stiles was a bit of a trouble maker still, he wouldn’t want to go look for a body in the woods if he wasn’t, but he never got hurt, his dad was never involved in those things. The officers in the force even thought that his fascination with crimes came from a desire to become a cop one day, and they kind of encouraged it – back, when he wasn’t hanging out with murderers and the body count wasn’t quite so high.

And now his dad had said pretty much what he had always feared to hear.

He was crying, and he hadn’t even noticed.

Jesus Christ, he was so damn miserable. It was like something _physical_ all around him.

He was completely and utterly _useless_.

Not even his dad could take him anymore. Scott had Isaac now, and Lydia had Jackson, and even Derek, the most unrequited crush of all time, would never, ever, need him again, and probably thought he was a nuisance, because he was the one who needed to get treatment for his injuries, risking exposing every single wolf in town.

Why was he even alive at this point?

He lay down in bed, and tried to feel less like a complete waste of space, but it was so _difficult._ He just wanted to stop feeling this pain, this agonizing burn that made him feel so completely lost and unnecessary. He was begging for some relief, _any kind_ of relief, begging as if it was a silent prayer.

A silent prayer someone heard, and answered.

**_________________________**

 

“Dark Creatures” is a very ample term that, if said Dark Creatures were to ever analyze it, they’d find it insulting and close minded. Dark Creatures could relate to anything that wasn’t human and had a higher level of thought than, say, a koala bear or a turtle.

Werewolves were dark creatures, and so were Kanimas and vampires and the other things that looked human, but weren’t.

Demons were called dark creatures because they could _take over_ a human, and, therefore, look human while existing – it was quite a distinction to _being_ a human being. No human could _become_ a demon like they could become a werewolf: a demon _exists_. That’s all. It doesn’t have a body or even a form – it just is. It’s a consciousness, an awareness, it exists, it thinks, and it wants to have fun. And its chosen method of fun is, pretty much, chaos, of the bad kind. Death, killing, misery, sadness, despair, panic, depression – it all sounded like ‘sunshine, flowers and love’ sounded to, you know, humans.

That’s why it was unfair to put demons in the same category as werewolves and other human-based creatures. They weren’t human, they were _demons_. You couldn’t try to define a demon by a human perspective; it didn’t have the same emotions or reactions, the same way of thinking or even the same level of understanding of many, many things. Demons don’t know love, or compassion, or mercy. It’s not that they are _evil_ , not in their way of existing. They are simply beings with no capacity for those emotions.

They do not exist in their world.

The way any demon acts is very simple, and very effective. They want to have fun and play with the human they take over, so, of course, it can’t be someone who’s happy and fine with the lives they’re leading – it has to be someone damaged, someone who’s got it bad enough that they _want_ something to come and _free them_. They have to _want_ it.

Of course a demon could take over a perfectly happy person, and make their lives miserable, but that simply wasn’t as fun as possessing someone who was already miserable to begin with.

It enhances the whole thing, makes the possession way more fun.

Also, demons don’t take over humans _indefinitely_. A possession could last _years_ , or just a few minutes, it depended, mostly, on the age of the demon, its strength, and how badly damaged the person they’re taking over is. The older the demon, the longer it can stay. The more damaged the person, the more fun it’ll be to play with them.

A demon could make the person do things he or she would never do, and then hide, leaving the human behind to despair over it. Two out of every five killing sprees that ended up in suicide were the work of a demon: it took over the body for _days,_ weeks, months, even years, and then it killed all those people, and hid. Watching the despair and fear and horror grow, and knowing the poor damaged soul would end up succumbing to the despair and killing themselves. The perfect ending to a possession.

That’s why, before even beginning to possess someone, a demon who knew what it was doing would shroud its victim’s house in fear and confusion. Things would never come out of nowhere, but they would be worse than they normally were.

Say, when a father finds out his son has been injured and is in the hospital, his first reaction would be fear and worry – and then the demon comes along, and adds just a little bit of anger to the mix.

When arguments are getting out of hand, the demon can whisper wordlessly the right words to not only hurt, but to _haunt_ someone. Like, for example, mentioning someone’s dead mother in the middle of a dressing down.

It’s all in the details, after all.

It’s not that hard to understand why Stiles Stilinski was chosen to be a demon’s plaything – he was perfection wrapped up in a package of low self-esteem, despair and fear of being rejected, sadness and just the tiniest bit of anger at everyone. Him and his certainty that he wasn’t good enough, his despair at seeing someone he cares about getting hurt: he was everything a demon searched for in its next target.

It was all for the taking, and the demon took it.

It was _ancient_ , and it was clever, and it wanted to play.

It was hidden, even when Stiles would become aware of himself again – it was watching. Because this kid had so many people who cared about him, so many people who loved him, that the demon _knew_ he would have a whole _feast_ when the kid was done for – and a lot of appetizers along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so proud of my demon!  
> What did you think?  
> Let me know!  
> REVIEW!


	3. When All Hell Breaks Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, welcome to the angstier side of the force.
> 
> No happiness in sight.
> 
> Hehehehehe.

**Come Out and Play**

**When All Hell Breaks Loose**

“What am I doing here?” he asked as soon as he woke up. How the hell was he even in the middle of the woods? Had the pack finally snapped and kidnapped him for his inaptitude in keeping himself out of trouble? Were they going to kill him, or maybe ban him from everything-werewolf?

They were all starting at him, and they looked… _scared_.

He looked up and noticed Derek hadn’t let go of him, he was half-crouching, supporting Stiles’ weight, as if he had been keeping him from hitting the ground. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Stiles looked away, backing away from the Alpha, and trying to get up – managing on his second attempt.

The strange thing was Derek looked as if he had to hold back from going to Stiles and helping him up.

“What the hell happened?” he asked again, rubbing the back of his head, completely confused and bewildered, “What did I miss?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” asked Peter, looking at him calculatingly, and Stiles started to get _really_ nervous now – a calculating Peter was a scary thing. Probably only trumped at being scary by a creepy Peter.

“I…” he started and then snapped his mouth shut. The last thing he remembered was two days ago.

He _knew_ it was two days ago, even if he didn’t know what day was today. But him, going to bed, sleeping when he got exhausted over crying and his father pretty much admitting he’d rather Stiles were dead – that was two days ago.

What the hell?!

“Going to bed on the day of the fight. After the hospital,” he answered carefully, staring at the others cautiously.

Lydia had her eyes wide, and Peter stopped looking calculating and joined up with Jackson, Isaac and Scott’s bandwagon of _scared_.

“I think you should call your dad, just to check in,” the girl suggested, and Stiles wanted to scream that _no_ , he won’t call his dad to check in, but it was the way she said it, as if she was afraid his dad wouldn’t answer.

Stiles got his phone, and called his dad cell.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Stiles, where are you?”

“I’m… with Scott.” It wasn’t the best answers, but it’d have to do.

“Look, I know I was harsh that night, but you sneaking out and leaving only notes behind is not okay. I want you home in one hour, you hear me?”

“Okay,” he agreed, because, apparently, his dad was back to being worried and disappointed, but at least the anger seemed to be gone.

His dad hung up, and Stiles looked at the others, still confused.

“My dad’s just told me he hasn’t seen me in _two days_. That I left _notes._ And I have no idea how come I’m here. Someone better explain things to me, _fast_ , before I really start to freak out.”

“You…” Scott started, but Derek cut him off.

“We don’t know. You should really go home, we don’t need your dad on our backs right now, and staying here will only create more trouble. We haven’t seen you till this afternoon either” he finished and Stiles felt as if he’s being punched.

Okay. He’s apparently gone amnesiac on his last two days, and the pack he almost dies for on a weekly basis was just telling him to get lost, because he might attract the wrong kind of attention.

He looked hurt and resentful, and Peter was staring at Derek as if he wanted to cuff him on the head, but he didn’t protest – none of them did. He shook his head while turning around and walking angrily over to his jeep.

And then he _stopped_. The air was filled with the faint smell of sulfur again, and Stiles turned around slowly, a bitter smile on his mouth.

“You know, guys, you’re _really_ making this too easy for me. It’s almost making me regret picking him, because he doesn’t even _needs_ me to go through hell” he finished, still smiling, his eyes turning pitch black, and then fading.

Stiles shook his head a little, blinking – it was obvious he didn’t remember what happened, or why he wasn’t walking anymore. He continued his walk to his jeep, turning it on and leaving the pack behind.

“Scott,” Derek looked at the boy, who was still staring at where Stiles’ jeep was disappearing, “Contact the Argents. We might need them to figure this one out.”

Scott simply nodded and walked away.

Lydia and Jackson stared at Derek, and he nodded at them too, going back to the house, followed by Peter and Isaac.

“Isaac, be a dear and follow Stiles home. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid” Peter ordered, and Isaac looked at Derek briefly. Seeing that the Alpha wouldn’t protest, he left.

“Did you _listen_ to what the thing in that boy said?” Peter inquires, and Derek sighed – he really didn’t want to deal with Peter and his never ending lessons on How Derek Is Stupid right now, “Did you?” the man insisted, and Derek turned around to face him, all broody eyes and sullen looks, “I don’t think you did. That thing had just warned you that that kid basically thought he is a waste of space, and you and I both know that’s not the case. He’s actually saved your pathetic little pack of misfits more than once. _He_ would have been a good choice on a new wolf, not that waste of space like the girl and the quiet guy, who, you know, _abandoned_ you. He would actually have been my first choice. And then you go and tell him to go home because he might _cause trouble for you_. Are you really that stupid, Derek? Wherever did we go wrong with you, because this level of idiocy doesn’t normally run in this family” Peter stated, clearly displeased, and Derek leveled him with a glare.

“I’d rather him thinking he’s a waste of space than freaking out about what is going on. This way we have time to figure this out.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes, as is asking for patience.

“That thing in that kid is _evil_. It felt powerful – way more powerful than the whole _pack_ of alphas we had at our door. And you sent it home, with Stiles. Who is unprotected. Brilliant plan.”

The man left after that, disappearing to the back of the house, God knows where, and Derek closed his eyes, lost.

He knew Stiles had a crush on him. Of course he knew – it was impossible not to notice. He was pretty sure Lydia and Jackson and Isaac knew it too, and of course this wouldn’t go unnoticed by Peter. Scott was the only one who clearly didn’t have a clue about it, but Derek had refused to acknowledge it.

He didn’t know how to deal with that.

Stiles was important to the pack – to him, in a way. It’s impossible to have your life saved so many times by a _human_ and not think of him with a certain level of… fondness, even if Stiles usually drove him mad in a few minutes, with the babbling and the inability to stay still, and the way he didn’t seem to care that he was human and always insisted on being in the line of fire.

Derek wanted Stiles to be _safe_ , but he didn’t know how to actually show it to him. So he growled and ordered and shoved him around, and tried very hard not to treat him any different than he did the rest of the pack.

But obviously he was overdoing it, if, in the way Stiles perceived things, he was at the very bottom of their food chain, and that wasn’t it.

Derek just didn’t know how to deal with him.

He wasn’t a wolf, he wasn’t _his_ , for him to deal with and comfort and order around. He also wasn’t truly Scott’s – of course, as far as that pack goes, it’s pretty much Scott and Stiles as a team, Allison as a part of it too, even if now she was managing to keep her distance, but there wasn’t a hierarchy to deal with them. Stiles ordered Scott around, and Scott obeyed. Allison told them to do things, and they did, and Allison and Stiles trusted Scott, so when he made a decision they backed him up.

That wasn’t the way a pack worked. And that’s what disconcerted Derek – he didn’t have to deal with Allison, and he could always be half respectful, half disdainful of Scott, but how to deal with the boy running with the wolves if he wasn’t one of them? Stiles didn’t _belong_ to anyone – it was hard to find the way to deal with him.

And if that attracted and appealed to Derek to a certain level, he did his very best to ignore it, because if there was one thing he’s learned in his life was that if he really, really wanted someone then that person was trouble.

His family could prove it.

So he tried his best to ignore Stiles when he could, and be hostile to him when he couldn’t, pushing him away, because that was the safest option – only, as always, he was doing the wrong thing _again_ , because pushing him away made him think he was unnecessary, unneeded, unloved, and that wasn’t true.

Whatever it was that had taken residence inside Stiles was powerful, all of them could feel it, even human Lydia. He just hoped the Argents had some idea of how to deal with that – and maybe, after this particular mess was over, he could try and talk to Stiles, make him see he was a part of their pack even of Scott wasn’t. That he had a place with them, and that he mattered.

He hoped it wasn’t too late.

**_________________________**

When Stiles got home, his dad was already there, sitting in the kitchen table, a mess of paperwork around him, and an empty glass of scotch by his hand.

“Hey,” he greeted, seeing relief flooding his father’s eyes. The man got up and went to his kid, pulling him to a hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles didn’t answer right away, he just tightened his hold on his dad, because ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t make it better, but it certainly made him feel less awful.

“It’s okay,” he answered, finally letting go, and taking a look at the mess of paper on the table, “What’s going on?”

His dad looked at the table, and rubbed his eyes, looking troubled and miserable – and for once, Stiles wasn’t to blame.

“Her name was Erica Reyes,” Stiles froze when he heard that tone of voice coming from his dad – the dry and professional one he used to describe things he couldn’t deal with emotionally, because it was a part of his job, “We found her in the woods earlier this morning. Her mother reported her missing last night.” He got quiet after that, and Stiles came closer to the table, looking at the papers.

A picture of Erica, smiling, before the change, she was pale, and looked a bit sickly, but her smile was honest.

_Stiles? What are you doing here?_

_Just making sure Catwoman is okay._

His heart sped up a bit. What…?

“I almost went on a panic attack when I couldn’t find you this morning again. I know you’re upset about what went down that night, but you have to understand where I’m coming from, son. It’s hard.”

“I know,” he replies, still looking at the pictures and files.

A picture of her body, cut in half.

_What are you doing?! Stop! Stiles, oh my God, HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! STILES, STOP!_

He took a trembling step back, his hands shaking as he closed his eyes.

“Stiles?”

_Why are you doing this? Stiles, please!_

_I’m sorry, Stiles is not in at the moment, may I take a message?_

“Son, are you okay?” His dad’s face was worried, and Stiles looked at him, trembling still.

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t sleep well at Scott. I think I’m gonna go and lie down a bit,” he answered, his voice weak, still looking at the pictures.

The sheriff glanced at where he was staring, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you know her?” he asks quietly, and Stiles looked away, finally, closing his eyes.

“She told me she had a crush on me. She was the Catwoman to my Batman” he looked into his father’s eyes then, too broken up to try and understand what was going on, “Do you know who did it?”

His dad shook his head.

“Nothing so far. She left the house on her own accord, no struggling. The only signs of fight are in the woods, and… I’m sure you don’t want to hear the rest of it.”

“Please” he begged, tears in his eyes, “What… How did that happen?”

“We don’t know. Our best guess in an axe, but the cuts are too clean. It should be impossible for someone to do that kind of damage, no one is that strong.”

A werewolf is.

But then again, it wasn’t a werewolf that Stiles was remembering, was it?

He didn’t say anything else and just went to his room, lying on his bed, eyes closed.

These were not the clothes he was wearing the night he fought with his dad.

He swallowed hard, and tried to remember – something, _anything_ , from the past 48 hours.

_Screaming. So much screaming, and begging, and tears, and threats she would never, ever, be able to fulfill._

_He was laughing._

_And then she cried no more, body cut in half, blood all over the ground, mixing up with dirt._

_His hoodie was stained, he was drenched in blood._

_He smiled._

_Bye-bye, Catwoman._

He shot up from the bed, gasping. A dream? Or a memory? Maybe his hyperactive imagination coming up with something that wasn’t real – it had happened before, when he went out of his medicine for too long, he would make up scenarios in his head, and he’d believe them.

He got up and looked around him – where _were_ his clothes?

Where were they?

He started looking, in his closet, under his bed, over his desk – places where he usually put his dirty clothes. He eyed the hamper, usually empty except for laundry day, when he picked up everything from various places in his room, and put it all there, to take downstairs.

He approached slowly, as if the basket would jump up and bite him.

Opening the lid, he eyed the clothes inside.

His grey hoodie, the one he was wearing that night.

Pulling it out, he stared at it, horrified – it was drenched in blood.

He fell on his knees and threw up all over the floor, his eyes stinging, and his hands shaking.

Why couldn’t he remember? What the hell had happened? Why… had he…

He had killed Erica.

It looked like his father’s problems were his fault this time too, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand Death #1.
> 
> What do you think? Good, bad?
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> REVIEW!


	4. Where Humans Dare Not Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few warnings: Gore and death and despair and angst and violence.
> 
> Also, Derek and his manpain the size of a continent.
> 
> I cried writing a few parts of this, but then again, I cry very easily.
> 
> I wrote this listening to You kill me, by Paper Route. Great song.
> 
> The tenses got away from me in this chapter – I was going with past, and then Present took over, and it works better with the flavor of desperation, so I left it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

 

****

**Come Out and Play**

**Where Humans Dare Not Go**

“It’s a demon.”

Chris Argent doesn’t even have to check through a thousand books, he doesn’t need to go looking for sources or other people to inform him of anything – as soon as they meet and Scott manages to tell him all they had seen from Stiles that afternoon he spits the sentence out as if he was doing them a favor.

 _It’s a demon_.

As if that explains anything.

Derek is just as uncomfortable inside the Argent’s house as they’d be in his, but he needs the information, and this is a human they are talking about. They have a truce, and by the way Chris Argent is acting, two packs and a family of hunters might not be enough to deal with it.

“What can we do?” he bites out, wishing Peter could have been here – he’s good at getting the right answers, but of course Argent had agreed to let him come with Scott - they were Alphas - but Peter was going a step too far: the killer of his sister, the man who had threatened to kill his daughter, and a wolf who should be dead.

“I’m not sure _there is_ anything we can do. Demons aren’t… fightable. We can’t kill it, we can’t control it, we can only contain the damage.”

“What do you mean? We’re not killing Stiles!” Scott screams in indignation, and Derek can see Allison practically forcing herself not to reach out to him, to comfort him.

“Killing the boy would be a complete waste. Killing him is what the demon is aiming for – these things thrive on suffering and chaos and misery. Its goal is to create such havoc in one’s life that they give up, and, in most cases, end up killing themselves.”

“But can’t we, like, exorcise him, or something? Trap this thing somewhere? Make it go all black smoke out of a window?” Scott is so hopeful it almost breaks Derek’s heart, and by the half smile Chris shoots him, it’s had the same effect on the hunter.

“You are watching way too much Supernatural, Scott. This is not how this works. A demon is a creature that exists, and its only purpose is to cause suffering. If we kill Stiles we set it free, and it’ll only find another vessel, possibly one close to the boy, anyway. My bet is his father, because he’d be devastated, that boy is everything to him.”

Derek is silent, looking down – this is not what he was hoping to hear. A creature, yes; powerful, okay: they could deal with that. But a _demon_? They couldn’t contain a demon, they couldn’t find weak points, they couldn’t reason with it.

They can’t kill Stiles, but that thing is going to find a way to make _Stiles kill himself_.

“There has to be something we can do” he says, and if his tone of voice carries some desperation he tries to ignore it.

“Let it run its course, and protect as many people as we can” is Chris’ only answer, and it sounds to Derek as if he’s already given up this fight.

“But… what about Stiles?” Scott insists, his voice small and broken, and Derek tries to avoid thinking that Stiles is pretty much the only mentor and father figure and friend Scott has ever known. He’s crazy, and immature and annoying, but he’s been there for Scott since forever – he’s been there when Scott was nothing special, and he’s been there when Scott became the star of the Lacrosse team, and when he became a werewolf. He was there when he got together with Allison, and when they broke up. He’s saved Scott’s life many more times than Scott saved his for all that he was the one with super powers. He’s taught Scott control, and researched for him, and was there for him, always.

The only person who’d probably miss Stiles more than Scott was his own father.

How could all of them _not notice_ that Stiles _didn’t see_ how important he was to all of them?

How could they have failed him like that?

“There has to be a way to save him” Derek _states_ , he doesn’t question, he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t suggest, he _confirms_ it. There has to be.

There’s always a way to defeat something like this.

Chris Argent simply stares at him for a long moment, before sighing, and telling them to wait. The silence stretches, and Scott can’t even manage to angst over Allison like Derek expects him to – he’s looking down, he’s looking broken, and Derek doesn’t know how to deal.

It seems to be his default setting these past few months, doesn’t it?

Not knowing stuff he should know, not doing things he should do.

Argent comes back just as Allison is starting to reach out to Scott, and she takes her hand back so fast Derek’s sure he’s the only one who’s seen it – Scott certainly doesn’t notice, his big, soulful eyes staring at Chris and his laptop.

“The Bestiary is old, but the family managed to keep it updated, mostly” he mentions casually, because _he knows_ they have somehow stolen it, and translated parts of it. They keep staring at him, and he types away, keeping silent while he clearly finds the part he’s looking for and reads it, and shakes his head before speaking, “Twice the family managed to trap a demon, but it isn’t easy, and in one of those times, it didn’t even work properly.”

“But we can do it? We can trap it, we can get it out of Stiles, right?” Scott’s voice is full of hope, and Chris Argent stares at him while he speaks.

“Maybe. Humans are prey to demons, other dark creatures aren’t. You are too powerful to be possessed, but if you actually _deal_ with a demon, if you make them a deal, they will take over you, and leave the body they are possessing behind.”

“I’ll make a deal!” Scott says fast, still hopeful, but Chris shakes his head again.

“It doesn’t work like that, Scott. You take the demon, and the thing will have all of your powers at its disposal. Whatever it is that Stiles has done, or will do, you would do a hundred times worse. We can’t risk that. Besides, we are only saving Stiles, and then putting you in danger. That’s what happened one of the times we tried to help in a possession – saving one person to damn another.”

“What about the time that worked?”

Argent looks at him, but he doesn’t answer. He slides the laptop to him, though, and points out a passage.

Derek reads it, and his blood runs cold.

“We’ll keep that as a last resource” he bites out, his mouth barely moving, because he’s afraid he’ll wolf out if he speaks normally.

Chris doesn’t say anything, and when Scott looks as if he’s going to ask, Argent shakes his head.

That’s for Derek and Chris to know, not Scott.

They leave soon after that, with the promise to at least try and contain the damage the demon can do _to_ Stiles and _using_ Stiles, and Chris swears he’ll try to find a way to save the kid.

Derek doesn’t actually believe anything he’ll come up with will work.

They don’t have that kind of luck.

His cellphone starts ringing the second they leave the house, and he picks it up.

“Derek, you _need_ to come here, I don’t know what to do,” Isaac’s voice is frantic, and they can hear someone screaming in the background.

Good thing Peter decided to send Isaac to keep an eye on Stiles.

**_________________________**

Stiles is still on the floor when he hears his father knock briefly on the door, letting him know he’s heading back to the station.

Stiles doesn’t know what he answers, he’s not even sure he _says_ anything at all - he’s still staring at the hoodie in his hands, he’s still coming down with the fact that he _had killed Erica_.

And he couldn’t remember it.

He can’t let go of the hoodie, it’s like the thing is glued to his hands permanently, he can’t let go of it, he can’t put it down, or wash it – _burn_ it, because he doesn’t want to be arrested.

Maybe he deserves it. He _should_ be arrested, he should… he should _die_ for it.

He killed Erica. Erica, who had a crush on him, who smiled when she saw him climbing through her window.

How did he even _do_ that?

How did he kill her?

Where the fuck was the axe that did it, hidden somewhere in the house, in his father’s basement?

Why couldn’t he remember? What if he was… having psychotic episodes, what if he was really going insane?

Jesus, what if he killed his father?

He hadn’t even noticed he was having trouble breathing until he realized he couldn’t feel the air coming in and out of his nose – he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear properly either, it was like static noise in his ears, all around him.

He was a murderer, he shouldn’t be alive, what had he done?

Erica… Erica… _Erica… Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica Erica ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA ERICA._

He only realized he was _screaming_ when he heard the footsteps behind him, and Isaac’s voice, panicked.

“Stiles, _stop screaming!”_ the werewolf said, firmly, going towards him – and then he stopped.

Because he saw the bloodied hoodie in Stiles’ hands.

“What did you do?”

**_________________________**

Isaac is lurking around Stiles’ garden, because he has no idea how else to keep an eye on the boy – Stiles isn’t technically pack’s business, he isn’t Derek’s trouble, he is Scott’s, but he understands that a lot can depend on Stiles sometimes, the only human who is willing to do _anything_ for the pack.

Of course they have Lydia now, but she is such a bitch, always complaining about everything while her boyfriend smirks his way through meetings and conversations. Between Lydia and Stiles, Isaac prefers Stiles any day, but that isn’t up to him.

So he is lurking around, sitting under Stiles’ window, keeping an ear out for any weird noises. That’s what he can do.

He isn’t _trying_ to pay attention to Stiles’ conversation with his dad – Isaac has a sense of decency, that is private business between the two of them, and if what he has heard from the… _thing_ in Stiles is true, things between the two of them are shaky.

He has a _lot_ of experience with shaky relationships between father and son, though, and even if he is sure the sheriff would _never_ harm Stiles in any way, he still listens in.

Just as a precaution.

In just a few seconds, he wishes he hadn’t.

Erica was… she was…

She was _dead_.

He didn’t approve of what she had done to Derek – sure, he considered running away back then, before the Alpha Pack thing, but it still wasn’t right.

But she didn’t deserve to _die_.

Hacked in half by an _axe_.

What even _did that_? When Peter had told him how hunters killed stray Omegas and Rogue Betas, he had told him they did it with a sword – a _sharp_ sword. Not the ideal way to go, but sharp and effective, and mostly painless, because it ended so fast.

But an axe?

God.

He closes his eyes and tries to rein in his breathing – Isaac isn’t really sure of what he’s feeling, he wasn’t as close to Erica as he had been, but it still hurt. She had been pack once, and he had always held hope that she and Derek would see sense, and she would be a part of their pack again.

Not anymore.

He only comes out of his shock when he listens to a soft word inside Stiles’ room – _Erica_.

Said again and again, like a mantra, or a prayer, raising in rhythm and becoming louder and louder, until it isn’t a whispered word anymore – it’s a shout, desperate and afraid and broken.

Secrecy be damned, he’s going in.

He climbs Stiles’ window fast enough, and the boy is kneeling on the ground, holding to a piece of clothing. He calls his name once, but he doesn’t answer – he’s having some sort of panic attack.

“Stiles! _Stop_ _screaming!_ ” he says firmly, going to where the boy is hunched over, and finally he responds, taking in a shuddering breath, and staring at Isaac as if he has never seen him before.

And that’s when he sees the hoodie – covered in blood.

“What did you do?” he whispers, shocked, and kneeling in front of Stiles again, taking the hoodie from his hands, thinking he hurt himself somehow.

But the blood doesn’t smell like Stiles. At all.

It _reeks_ of Erica.

“I killed her.”

Isaac doesn’t answer, because even if the hoodie has her blood all over it, even if Stiles is _saying_ it, he doesn’t believe it. Stiles wouldn’t _kill Erica_. He just wouldn’t.

Sure, he has a ruthless side to him, a part of him that is just as dark as any werewolf under the full moon, but not to the people he liked or cared about, and Erica was somewhat of a bitch, but Isaac knew of the crush she used to have on Stiles, and how Stiles knew of that, and how he always was nicer to her because of it.

Stiles simply _wouldn’t_ kill Erica.

He just wouldn’t.

“I killed her, God, Isaac, go away. GO AWAY, I killed her.”

But Isaac doesn’t go away; he tries to come nearer Stiles, who backs away, plastering himself against the wall, still clutching the hoodie, trying to get smaller, as if he was a child hiding under a table.

“Stiles, just tell me what you remember. You didn’t do it, what do you remember?”

“I did, I did. I remember she was screaming, I remember it.”

Isaac’s eyes widen in horror, but Stiles didn’t do it, he knows it with everything he is.

“Stiles, you…” and then he remembers, what the Sheriff said, “You didn’t do it. You couldn’t have done it. Your dad said so, a human couldn’t have cut her like that, and you are _human_.”

But Stiles doesn’t seem to be listening, he just shakes his head and trembles, and holds the hoodie tighter.

Isaac takes it off his hands, and throws it behind him, and Stiles makes a noise as if he’s been physically hurt. He grabs Stiles’s hands, looking at him intently, and the boy is so scared he doesn’t even fight it.

“You didn’t do it. You couldn’t. _You_ _are human_ ” he repeats, and Stiles looks so miserable, as if he wants to believe Isaac so badly, but he just can’t.

“But I remember her screaming. She smiled when she saw me. That’s her blood.”

His voice is trembling and desperate, but Isaac swallows hard, because even he is starting to doubt whatever it is that makes him believe Stiles wouldn’t kill one of them – even so, he won’t let Stiles despair, because if there is the tiniest chance that he didn’t do it, then that’s the part they’ll grab and hold on to.

“You didn’t do it. You don’t remember what happened these past two days, what if someone kidnapped you, and planted memories in you? What if they drugged you and made you believe you did it? What if this is exactly what they want? You didn’t do it.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, and then another, and one more before he starts to look as if he’s _listening_.

“You’re human. No human could have done that. Your father said so” Isaac continues, and Stiles closes his eyes.

“I don’t know… I don’t know what to think anymore” he whispers, brokenly, and Isaac lets go of his hands, and just stares at him.

“Just remember you’re human.”

Stiles looks as if he’s going to try and smile, and that’s when it happens: his eyes go black for a second, a fraction of a second, and then he’s _smiling_ , evil and dirty, and Isaac jumps back, eyes wide.

“I don’t think so, little wolf” the thing says, and Stiles body goes slack for a second.

And when he opens his eyes again, that’s when the screaming starts.

**_________________________**

Isaac’s voice holds such desperation that Derek can’t even be bothered to let Scott know what is going on – he gets into his car and drives as fast as he can to Stiles’ house, parking in a way he’s sure is illegal, but he doesn’t care.

He can pick up the screams from a mile away.

He jumps through the boy’s window, and the scene that greets him is something he thinks he’ll never forget for as long as he lives. Stiles is on the floor, curled up on himself, screaming himself hoarse, begging and pleading and saying ‘no’ a hundred times over.

He’s asking for forgiveness, for death, for relief, for anything to help him forget it.

Derek’s eyes meet Isaac’s and the boy walks over to him and tells him what he found out from the Sheriff himself – Erica is dead.

And Stiles is, apparently, the one who killed her.

The screaming makes sense, now – the _demon_ is making Stiles remember.

He’s begging again, until he’s not – Stiles is turning on the floor, on his hands and knees, and he’s throwing up on the carpet again, falling to the side.

He’s taking one deep breath after the other, gulping down air as if choking, and tears are running down his face.

“What did that?” he finally says.

Isaac and Derek are silent – the Beta because he doesn’t know, and the Alpha because he’s not sure he’s the one who should explain this to Stiles.

“I remember” he talks again, his voice rough and hoarse form the screaming, weak, “But it wasn’t _me_. What did that? What’s happening?” He raises his eyes, begging silently as he stares at Derek, “Please, don’t lie to me, what is happening?”

Derek looks down, and he can feel both boys looking at him – Stiles is trembling every few seconds, and he is fighting not to blink – as if a second with his eyes closed will be enough to make him disappear forever.

It’s probably true, anyway.

“A demon is possessing you” he says, his voice cold and hard and inflexible.

He can’t break down, because if he does, then they are all doomed – _someone_ has to keep it together, and these teens sure as hell won’t do that.

“It’s taken you over the past two days, it’s killed Erica using your body. It wasn’t you. It’s… this thing.”

Stiles finally sits up and stares at Derek, as if waiting for more, but there isn’t anything. What can he say? Everything will be alright? It sure as hell won’t. They have _nothing_ and unless Chris Argent finds a magical way to kill and trap demons, while making their vessel forget whatever it is it did while it was being used by the demon, there’s no happy ending for this.

The boy is still looking at him, waiting, wanting, expecting something, and Derek wants to grab him and shake him for doing that, for having such faith and hope in him, as if he’s _ever_ held the answers for any of their problems.

If anything, it’s always been the other way around.

And at the same time, he wants to tell Stiles that he matters, that they’ll fight this thing, that maybe, just maybe, just this once, they can win.

That maybe, this time, only this time, Derek can forget Stiles is barely seventeen, and maybe he can let himself go.

That he can love Stiles back, maybe. It’s deeper than a crush, this faith Stiles has in him, he sees it as clear as day now and he can’t do anything about it – he just can’t.

Because he doesn’t have the answers, because there’s no way they can fight it, because Stiles is a minor, and he’s not, because this demon holds all the cards, and everything they show him now is ammunition to be used against them later on.

Stiles is the victim and the villain, all rolled into one.

And Derek is helpless.

He hates it.

“How do we fight it?”

It’s not Stiles’ question, it’s Isaac’s, but Derek doesn’t take his eyes off Stiles as answers, quiet and deadly.

“We don’t.”

Stiles makes a sound that is half a laugh and half a sob, and covers his mouth with one of his hands, tears running down his face again.

“We don’t?” he repeats, incredulous, staring at Derek, bitter and vengeful, and full of hatred – not the demon’s: _his_. Derek knows why, because he thinks they have given up on him.

“It’s not something we can fight, we have to be smarter than it is, and we can’t do that with Stiles present. It’s listening to us, even now. Argent is looking through it, we’re working on it. We don’t fight it. We win it, ok?” he’s staring at Stiles as he says it, seeing a bit of hope coming to the surface, and he wants to hit himself for doing it – their chance of winning this thing is so, so low it’s not even funny.

There’s always a way, though. He’ll take that road if he has to.

How ridiculous is it that he’s only now realizing how much he cares for this stupid boy, anyway? When they are at the end of the road, when there’s _nothing_ they can do to make this work?

“What can I do?” Stiles asks, taking a deep breath, his body shaking a bit still, and Isaac looks as if he wants to _help him_ , so desperately, his blue eyes shining in concern.

For a werewolf, that boy sure can’t take someone suffering like this.

“Nothing. You’re the problem, Stiles. This one you let us take care of.” Derek doesn’t stop to take in Stiles’ reaction, he turns to Isaac, ignoring the betrayed and hurt look Stiles has on his face, “Stay here until Peter comes in. If he tries anything, call me or Argent. Do not let him out of your sight.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, he just leaves.

If he stayed for a second longer he’d have taken Stiles in his arms, made him see he’s important – kissed him.

He’s never let himself wonder, never really thought about it until it’s staring at him in the face.

Maybe it even became this evident with a little help from the demon itself, but he _can’t do it._

Maybe, maybe if they save Stiles somehow, then he’ll try to figure something out.

But not right now, not this way.

He can’t.

He goes back to his house, and finds Peter there. Asks him to go over to Stiles, and tell him to keep Isaac there too – maybe two werewolves could take care of a demon for long enough to contain any danger.

He says he has research to do, and Peter leaves.

He sits down on a battered old couch, and stares at the half burned walls.

There is a solution.

Chris Argent showed it to him – he knows he _could_ do it. He grabs their laptop, and reads the passage over and over again.

He _could_ do it.

The thing is: will he?

Does he want to?

He closes his eyes, and thinks.

Little does he know that, by the end of the night, he’ll have all his answers.

**_________________________**

When Peter gets to the house the boy lives in, Stiles is cleaning.

He has cleaning products all around him, and he’s scrubbing the floor of his bedroom with a force that a human should not possess when dealing with cleaning something, and Isaac is sitting cross legged on the bed, staring worriedly at the other teen.

So much teen angst, his nephew is such an idiot.

Stiles looks at him when he enters through the window, and then goes back to cleaning. There’s a faint smell of smoke in the air, and he sniffs a little, looking at Isaac inquisitively.

“I burned a hoodie” he answers, and Stiles snorts from where he’s scrubbing the floor.

“Yeah, because burning the evidence that a demon used my body to kill a girl who was my _friend_ is, you know, my top priority right now.”

“It’s the thing that could get you arrested for something you didn’t do, so I burned it. Now shut up, and go back to scrubbing, Cinderella.”

Hm, thinks Peter, that’s news.

Isaac is never very verbal about anything – he watches a lot, though. Quiet and, Peter is sure, when he gets older, deadly. He’s a smart kid, probably the only one with any potential from the Betas his nephew had changed – a little bit damaged, but damaged was good for a werewolf, kept them fighting.

If you couldn’t have your family to ground you – and Isaac was certainly better off without his father – anger and damage were good enough.

He cares about Stiles, though. It’s in the way he keeps watching the teen in the room, as if he’s ready to jump up and hold him back if he goes into another killing spree, and that’s something they can explore, if this mess is ever going to be solved.

Peter has some faith it will, because Derek might be a complete idiot, but he’s a persistent idiot, and Scott is not much better, and this boy making his hands raw with cleaning products is important to both of them.

Who knew that if only Derek could be a bit more into sharing and caring all this mess could have been avoided.

“Do any of you know what Derek is planning to do?” he asks while taking a seat on Stiles’ desk chair, and Stiles finally lets go of his cleaning to sit on the floor, his back resting on the wall.

He snorts, bitterly, and Peter keeps on sniffing the air, all the time, to see the traces of sulfur. If it’s really a demon, it could be _it_ right now, and not Stiles – though god knows the kid is bitter and damaged enough without it.

“No, because I’m the enemy. I’m the problem. So, you know, no sharing information with Stiles present.”

“You know it makes sense, and we are trying to help” Isaac says, and his tone is chiding. Stiles looks down, regretful, and sighs.

“I do. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m not good at _dealing_ with stuff like this. I get _you_ guys out of trouble. Not the other way around. I don’t want to be any more dead weight than I already am.”

“You _really_ believe that, don’t you?” Peter ends up saying, curiously, because, please. He’s had his psychotic phase, and his serial killer moments, but never, ever, in all of his life, he felt as if he was less than whatever it was he wanted to be. He believed in himself, he knew his place in the world, he could even accept that the power of being an Alpha would probably kill him right now, and that’s why he allowed Derek to run this little freak show, but how could someone like Stiles _not see_?

The kid doesn’t answer; he just stares at him, guilty and angry, and then looks down. Peter shakes his head, what’s the world coming to, when an idiot like Scott gets the girl and the Alpha title, and someone like Stiles is the sidekick who’s going to end up dead to solve this mess?

They stay in silence, and Peter gets bored in about three minutes – he’s never been really good about just watching time pass by, so he goes downstairs, and turns on the TV, being followed by the teens soon after. Stiles goes into the kitchen, and starts cleaning there – and if _that_ isn’t a nervous habit Peter’s never seen one in his life, then.

Isaac is with Stiles – he didn’t even mention going away, even with Peter there, so Peter is at least half sure he’s not going to miss if the demon shows up again. Hours go by, and nothing seems to really be in trouble – Peter watches at least two movies, and is about to begin a third when they hear the Sheriff’s car parking in the driveway.

Suddenly the two teens come out of the kitchen, Stiles with his eyes wide and pleading, looking at the two werewolves, as if begging them to leave.

“Kid, we’re not going anywhere” Peter says, getting up, and coming to a stop two steps away from Stiles.

Something is shifting.

He can feel it in his bones.

“I don’t want you to” Stiles answers, and the door opens, strangely homey. The Sheriff looks confused by the scene that greets him, an adult who was declared miraculously cured after years in coma, a boy he had arrested personally a few months back, and his son reeking of cleaning products.

“Son?” the Sheriff says cautiously, and that’s when it hits Peter – the faint smell of rotten eggs: sulfur.

“Hey, daddy” says the demon, his eyes flashing black, his smile all teeth, and he takes a step forward as the Sheriff takes one back.

Peter half changes and roars, grabbing the thing by the waist and tackling it to the floor.

The demon laughs.

“Oh, Peter, darling, if I knew you liked Stiles this way I’d have given him to you for a bit.”

Peter ignores the barb and tightens his hold – but the truth is, the thing is only allowing him to hold it down because it wants to. He could be thrown aside any second.

He’s about to say something, when Isaac, eyes flashing gold, comes towards them, grabs a hold of Stiles’ head, and knocks it on the floor. The thing gives half a whimper, and goes slack.

It’s unconscious, the smell is gone.

Peter gets away from the body on the floor, and gets up, the Sheriff holding a gun at him, but Peter knows the man won’t use it: he _saw_ them change.

He also saw his son’s eyes going black.

“We,” he begins, gesturing towards him and Isaac, “are werewolves. And your son is being possessed by a demon. We are pretty much the only thing that can save him, and your bullets won’t do a thing to us, except, maybe, make me mad” he smiles, pleasantly, “and you _really_ don’t want to see me mad.”

He sends Isaac upstairs with Stiles, while he sits the Sheriff down and explains everything he’s been missing. He actually takes a bit of pleasure out of it: making the man realize what he was doing to his son, the guilt and everything he did wrong, Peter likes it.

He’s never said he was a good man, but he’s a bit fond of Stiles himself – not in the way the demon had insinuated, but of his intelligence and persistence. He wouldn’t have offered him the bite if he wasn’t.

When he finishes, the Sheriff is looking wrecked. He hasn’t cried, he hasn’t even said he doesn’t believe him – he is staring at the table, looking through it as if he can’t quite decide what to do.

“What can we do? What can I do? To save my son?”

Peter shrugs.

“I don’t know if there’s anything that can be done” he answers honestly, and then looks at the man, “But if there is, you can be sure my nephew will find it.”

“Why would he? Why would he care about Stiles like that?”

And really, doesn’t this man _know_ his son? Has he _met_ him? Who wouldn’t try to save Stiles?

“Because that idiot loves your son. It’s sickening, because he’s never going to do anything about it. I bet he doesn’t even realize it, but he does.”

The Sheriff doesn’t answer, and they sit in silence for an awkward minute, Peter patiently waiting for the Sheriff to say something, but they are interrupted by a crash of broken glass.

Peter is on the second floor so fast the Sheriff doesn’t even realize he’s gone from the kitchen. When they get to Stiles’ room, the whole place smells like sulfur, Isaac is on the floor, his head bleeding, and the window is crashed open.

Peter doesn’t even hesitate; he gets his phone and calls Derek.

“The demon’s run away. Find him” he orders, before going over to Isaac.

They better find that boy before he hurts anyone else – because Stiles may be strong and hard and everything he wants to believe he is, but Erica’s death is enough.

One more and he’s going down.

And there’ll be no saving him if he’s already dead.

**_________________________**

When Derek finds him three hours later, he’s covered in blood and tears, and he’s muttering to the body in his hands.

“I’m sorry, oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he whispers brokenly over and over again.

The moment he hears Peter’s voice on the phone Derek is out of the house. He tries to focus, find Stiles smell, and it isn’t that hard to track him down – the demon certainly doesn’t care that he’s doing what it’s doing: destroying all of them from the inside out.

They are at the abandoned warehouse he’s used as a hideout before.

Boyd is on the floor – _parts_ of Boyd, actually, _all over_ the floor; an axe resting against the wall and Stiles is covered in blood from head to toe. He is holding Boyd’s upper body against him, talking to it, as if the older boy could hear him, and there’s more than simply desperation in his tone – he is half crazed, and Derek wonders how long he’s been here with Boyd’s body, conscious and alert of the fact that _his body_ had killed Boyd.

Scott, Isaac, Jackson and Peter are outside, but Derek asks them to stay out of it for a bit. Scott tries to protest, but Jackson says he’ll knock him over the head if he has to, and Isaac bares his teeth, and Scott relents – not so much out of fear, but because he realizes arguing will make this longer than it has to be.

“Stiles?” he calls, his voice quiet, and the boy turns around, still holding half of Boyd to him.

“Please…” he says, begging, tears falling freely from his eyes, blood everywhere – in his face and clothes and hands, “Please, Derek, please, please.”

He’s sobbing, and Derek kneels beside him, making him let go of Boyd, and he takes Stiles into his arms, holding him firmly against him, not caring about the blood.

“We’re trying, Stiles, we’re trying” he answers – and they _are_ , Chris hasn’t stopped looking, but things aren’t looking good enough.

They aren’t looking good _at all_.

“No. Please, now, finish this now” Stiles says, holding to Derek desperately, and Derek wonders if he even realizes what he’s doing, “Finish this now.”

Derek pulls away a bit, and stares at Stiles, into his wet eyes.

“What?” he questions, because he does not understand it.

He doesn’t _want_ to understand it.

“Please, please, make this over. Make this end.”

“I’m trying” he says, growling, not in anger but in fear and despair, because _he is_.

But Stiles shakes his head, and grabs Derek’s face with both his hands, pulling him close, and Derek thinks for a second Stiles is going to kiss him, their lips almost touching.

“Kill me” he orders, demanding and certain and direct, “Now. Kill me” he says again.

And Derek takes a deep breath, letting his head fall forwards, their foreheads touching, breathing the same air, tainted with the smell of blood.

He knows what he has to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe.
> 
> And, possibly, this will be over next chapter.
> 
> What do you think Derek’ll do?
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> REVIEW!


	5. All Roads Are Paved With Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and tragedy and no conventional happy ending. This is what’s waiting for you.

**Come Out and Play**

**All Roads Are Paved With Good Intentions**

Their breathing was the same speed, almost no space between them – Derek’s eyes were wide open, taking Stiles in: his breathing, his despair, his eyes closed tightly as if he couldn’t bear to look at the blood around him.

“I’ll save you” he whispered, his voice low and yet firm, making Stiles open his eyes, “I swear I’ll save you.”

The boy shook his head, or tried to, because Derek wouldn’t let go of his face, holding him as gently as he could.

“I don’t want you to” Stiles whispered back, and Derek growled, getting up and dragging Stiles with him.

“I didn’t ask what you wanted” the man replies, guiding Stiles out of the abandoned building. The Sheriff’s cruiser is the first thing they see, and they stare, waiting for the man taking his son in: the blood, the tears, the despair, the fear – he’s wrecked. He’ll never be the same again.

John tries to take a step towards Stiles, but the boy cringes away from it, getting away from Derek too, as if their touch is poison.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Stiles asks his father, and the man shakes his head, visibly holding himself from trying to hug his son again, “You should do it. But then again, maybe I’ll go into a killing spree inside the prison, and that’ll be bad. Really bad” he continues, everyone around him staring at him, not knowing what to do, how to act – he’s falling apart and there’s _nothing_ they can do about it.

What would they say? They can’t fix this. They can’t erase this from Stiles, they can’t protect him from himself. Scott looks about ready to cry, and Isaac is shaking – with rage at the demon or fear for Stiles is anyone’s guess -, even Jackson is holding himself tightly, as if afraid to breathe too harshly and break what’s left of Stiles.

Derek can save him, though.

He _will_ save him.

“I won’t arrest you. I can’t” John answers, staring at Stiles as if he’s a wild animal, ready to lash out, “Peter filled me in on your secrets, I can’t take you in like that.”

“Because I’ll be a danger even under arrest” Stiles suggests resignedly, and John shakes his head again.

“No. Because this isn’t your fault.”

“Not my fault?” Stiles’ voice is tinged with laughter, and his eyes are trimmed with tears, “ _Not_ my fault?” he asks again, barking a laugh and running one of his hands with such force through his short hair it’s a surprise he’s not hurting himself with the gesture, “Do you know what you’ll find in there? When you get in there, to cover for your son, who’s possessed by a _demon_?” he asks taking a step towards his father, and the werewolves tense around him, ready to try and contain an attack, but he doesn’t notice, so lost in desperation he can’t even look around him anymore, “You’ll find one of my classmates, a _person_ , a _boy_ , hacked to pieces. By me. The axe is still there, resting against the wall, and I _did it_. I don’t know how, and I couldn’t _stop!_ I _saw_ it happening, I _heard_ his screams, I _felt_ the way his bones shattered under the axe, and how his skin broke in its blade. I did it, I felt it, I was there! I couldn’t stop it! I couldn’t! I tried, and I just kept going, and he was screaming so _much_ , and he begged me to stop, and I didn’t! He died thinking I was killing him because I wanted to, because I resented him for being what he is! Boyd and Erica _are dead_ because I killed them, I was the last thing they saw, I was the last one they hated, because _I killed them_. I did. I didn’t mean to, but I did!” his voice was hoarse from his screaming, and he was on the floor again, on his knees, his head on his hands, sobbing so hard his whole body shook. Peter and Isaac treaded a look, and the boy came forward, a syringe in his hands.

He practically stabs Stiles with it on his arm, and the last thing he does before falling unconscious is send a betrayed look to Isaac.

The teen takes Stiles in his arms, and turns, going to Stiles’ own jeep.

Derek had talked to Peter while they searched for Stiles, he knew what he was going to do.

He is the only one who knows, and he doesn’t oppose him. He actually told him it was the right choice, the right thing to do. He had pretty much put Stiles in this situation, making him feel unappreciated; he might as well fix it.

Peter looks at the other teens and tells them to follow Isaac and Stiles; that he’ll be with them in a minute. They are supposed to go to the Sheriff’s house and stay there until he tells them to leave. Four werewolves will probably be able to contain the demon in case Stiles wakes up.

They hope so at least.

The Sheriff turns around to follow, but Derek puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. He waits until they are far away, their cars disappearing down the road; so far gone even the werewolf hearing won’t be able to let them catch what he is going to say.

“I can save him” he says firmly, but the man just keeps looking at him, distrustfully – after all, what has Derek done to warrant his trust?

“I don’t think anyone can truly save him” the man replies and Derek understands he is talking about more than just physical damage here. Stiles had _seen_ himself kill Boyd, he remembered killing Erica.

Derek nods, and looks down.

“I can try” he replies, but the Sheriff doesn’t look impressed.

“Why?” he asks, and Derek is taken aback by the hostility put into a single word, “Why are you trying to save my boy _now_? Why would you try to save him _at all_? I don’t know where I went wrong with him, and your uncle made it pretty clear that this is just as much my fault as it is yours, and his friends’, but _I_ have a reason to try and save him, what do _you_ have? Why?”

Derek looks at him but doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t answer – he just stares at the man for a long minute, thinking of all the things he could say.

He could say he wants to save Stiles because he loves him. Cares about him more than he cares about anyone else right now, and that a demon was needed to make him see it. He could tell him that his pack owes Stiles big time, that without him they’d be dead five times over. _He’d_ be dead.

He can tell him he wants to take Stiles’ pain away. That the boy doesn’t deserve to suffer – he can take a part of that pain away.

He said he’ll _save_ Stiles, he never told him how.

“I can do it, but I need your help” he replies instead, because, honestly? He never said any of those things to _Stiles_ , and he’s the one who should listen to it, not his father or anyone else.

He’ll probably never get the chance to say any of it to the boy, and he won’t cheapen what he now knows he feels by saying them to anyone else.

The Sheriff still doesn’t look convinced, so Derek shakes his head, frustrated.

“I know you don’t trust me, but there is a way to save him. Put him out of this misery. Chris Argent will help us, but we might need you too. There’s more at stake than Stiles’ life right now, he’s killing, and he won’t stop, until Stiles is so broken he’ll kill himself, and then this thing will move on, killing again and again. We have a shot at stopping it. Isn’t that what Stiles would want?” They stare at each other, and the Sheriff clearly doesn’t like what he’s hearing, “He _begged_ me to kill him when we found him. Begged me. And if I thought it’d help, I would have done it. We can try to kill this demon. Can you help me? For your son?”

The Sheriff doesn’t really answer, and Derek takes that as a sign to go on, and explain what he intends to do – and _why_. The why is more important the all the rest.

They leave, going to Chris Argent for backup, and the man looks skeptical about Derek’s plan before agreeing to help. There’s so much that can go wrong if they miss a single step.

He probably only agrees because this is the Sheriff, and even being a big time hunter can’t guarantee freedom to _kill people_ when the Sheriff knows what he is now, what his family does.

What his daughter had done to Stiles’ friends. What his father had done to Stiles himself.

Things will sure be different for the Argents once this demon thing is settled.

When they leave the hunter’s house, Derek is a wreck himself, even if doesn’t show it as long as there’s someone with him.

This is the hardest thing he’s ever done.

He hopes he won’t regret it.

**X**

John stares at his son sleeping.

He’s relatively cleaned up – no blood in sight. His clothes are changed, and he’s dead to the world. He cringes at that particular thought: very, very bad phrasing, but the sedative the other teen had put him under is doing its job.

He hopes Stiles can forget when he’s sleeping like this. Hopes he doesn’t have to relive that moment again.

He actually _knows_ Stiles would rather be dead than doing what this thing is making him do.

It’s killing John inside not to be able to do _anything_. Derek’s plan is not fail proof, and even then, it’s not what John would have picked.

He just doesn’t want to see his son suffer anymore, he can’t take it.

He knows, by what Peter told him, that Stiles will end up dead if the demon has its way – he’ll kill himself, and the demon will be free, and that’s _not_ an option. His boy has suffered enough without this thing getting away with murder.

The Lahey kid and Scott are flanking Stiles on the bed – Scott is on the actual bed, staring at Stiles the whole time, arms around his knees; Isaac is on the floor, his chin resting on the bed, eyes trained on Stiles’ sleeping form, following the rise and fall of his chest.

Peter is on the desk chair, looking through a book and Jackson in resting his head against the wall. The Hale man is so calm John thinks it’s eerie – he knows of the plan, how can he be this calm around Stiles?

Then again, he saw his whole family die in a fire, and was catatonic for many, many years because of it. He is used to tragedy in a way none of them are, not even Derek, or him and Stiles.

John sighs, still leaning against the doorway, unwilling to leave, and yet knowing he’ll have to leave soon.

As soon as Derek comes to his son, to put an end to this.

Peter’s phone ring and the teens take that as a sign to get up. Peter ushers them out of the house, Isaac leaving only when Peter growls at him, and he and Hale trade a look on his way out.

“It’ll work” the man offers casually, and John stares at him bitterly.

“I’m not sure that’s comforting.”

Peter shrugs, turning his back on him, out of the door by the time he replies.

“It wasn’t meant to be comforting, it was meant to be true.”

John watches them leave and swallows hard and startles when his phone beeps with a text from Argent.

He sighs and leaves the house.

Now all he can do is wait.

**X**

His breathing is troubled – he is no longer under the influence of the drugs, he is simply sleeping.

Derek gets into the room though the window – he could have used the door, after all, the Sheriff _knows_ what he’s doing here, knows he _is_ here, and yet he gets through the window, climbing the tree and jumping in silently.

He might have, once or twice, imagined doing this - getting into Stiles room in the middle of the night, waking him up to talk or just to look at him. It’s creepy as hell but he doesn’t much care.

With what he’s doing next he honestly doesn’t care at all.

He sits on the edge of the bed and lets his hand fall on Stiles’ face. It’s not a caress, Derek doesn’t even think he is _capable_ of a true caress, but it’s light and calm, and he swallows hard while doing it.

This is so, so wrong.

Stiles’ eyes fly open at the touch – he’s scared and yet relieved, and Derek can only imagine he’s relieved at seeing he’s home, he’s sleeping, he’s not in some obscure hideout with pieces of his friends around him.

Because the demon was clearly killing werewolves, and the next one on the list is probably Isaac and then Scott; Peter and Derek.

But that’s not going to happen, because Derek will end this.

Now.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, eyes wide and suspicious, “Are you going to finish me off? Kill me for killing your wolves?” His voice is broken up but defiant – he’s trying to anger Derek.

Derek looks down and takes his hand away before looking at Stiles again.

“Killing you would free the demon. It’d go away, and keep killing. I’m not here to kill you” his mouth twists in an almost smile before he continues, “Besides, _you_ didn’t do anything. And Erica and Boyd weren’t mine any longer.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, he just stares for a few minutes, sleep and confusion and the absence of his medication in his system are probably playing a major part in his inactivity.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I want to be here.”

His answer is unsatisfactory and short, pointless and confusing, and Stiles looks down, focusing on the bed, shaking his head.

“You can’t do this, Derek. I can’t do this now. You can’t come here and not say things, and look at me as if you’re ready to _do_ something, and not do it. I can’t… _deal_ with this right now.” His voice is desperate, but Derek notices he never tells him to leave.

Maybe Stiles just doesn’t want to be alone.

Maybe he is afraid he’s going to die soon, and won’t ever have what he longs for.

“It told me” Derek offers, and Stiles looks at him as if he’s crazy – which, at this point, he probably is. He wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles is suspicious, and Derek almost smiles, but really doesn’t, because smiling is not something he’s used to doing.

“How you feel about me. It told me.”

Stiles swallows hard but doesn’t answer right away, instead taking a shuddering breath before smiling a bit at Derek, his head down, eyes peeking at him through his lashes.

“I would deny everything, and tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I honestly see only one way this is ending, and if I’m gonna die very, very soon, I won’t bother to deny that I have a crush on you.”

“Just a crush?” Derek presses, coming closer, and Stiles eyes him warily – they are sitting on his bed now, his back against the headboard, and Derek facing him, his body turned, his feet on the floor, but still close, too close to Stiles’ comfort, that much is obvious.

“What is it to you, Derek? I don’t want you to come here and mock me for having it bad for you when this mess is going down. Also, I don’t want you to come here and have some sort of pity fest with me because you feel bad about this demon, and what it’s said. I remember some of it, it’s making you feel guilty, but I don’t really care – it’s happened, and that’s it. It’s not your fault; you don’t have to pretend to care so you won’t feel bad when this is all over.”

He’s talking as if he’s sure he’s going to die. Stiles has _accepted_ he’s going to die to end this, and Derek has a strong suspicion he may even be planning it already.

“I didn’t come here to do any of that.”

“Then why did you?” the boy asks again, clearly irritated.

“I want you.”

It slipped past his lips easily, as if he had been planning to say that all along. As if that was a part of what he had come here to do, and it sure wasn’t – not like this.

Stiles’ eyes get wide, and he looks horrified.

“What the HELL, Derek? What are you doing? You can’t… I can’t… It’s… Why are you doing this?!” he splutters out, confused and hurt – and yet, somehow hopeful.

It breaks Derek’s heart.

“I’m doing this because we’ll never have this chance again. You know that.”

Stiles looks down and laughs bitterly. Derek can see a tear falling on the bedspread, and when Stiles looks up again, his eyes are wet, trimmed with tears.

“So you came to tell me you care about me before I die?”

Derek doesn’t really answer to that – he reaches a hand and traces Stiles’ cheek, catching a tear as he does it, slow and gentle, breathing in deeply. His hand traces the boy’s face, going down and to the back of his neck, before pulling him forwards, towards him, not really using much force in case Stiles wants to back away.

He doesn’t.

Their lips meet in a mockery of a kiss – they don’t move, there’s no passion, no real desire – it’s full of resignation, guilt and fear. It’s the end of something that will never, ever be, because Derek is ending this, he’s putting an end to it, whether Stiles wants to or not.

He knows the boy would never choose for it to end this way, but it’s all they’ve got.

They break apart, and Stiles opens his eyes, tears falling silently down his face, Derek’s hand still on his neck until the man pulls him to his lap, straddling him, touching their foreheads together, staring into Stiles eyes before kissing him again – a real kiss this time, even if chaste and calm and sad, tasting of tears and things that’ll never be.

“I want you” Derek repeats, breaking the kiss and holding Stiles to him, looking into his eyes again, “I do. And I’m so sorry” he whispers against the boy’s lips and they kiss again, resigned and final, “You want me” he says when they move apart, and Stiles stares at him, confused, about to ask what he means, but Derek doesn’t let him speak before continuing, “You can have me. A full on Alpha to play with, all the power you could ever want. You want me. Let him go, and you can have me” he says, staring into Stiles eyes but not really seeing him – his shock and fear and anger.

He tightens his hold when Stiles tries to get off of him, but Derek doesn’t let him.

“What are you doing?!” Stiles screams, pushing him away, but Derek shakes his head.

“Saving you” he explains, as if it’s simple and easy.

Stiles looks ready to reply, but he closes his eyes with a noise of pain, and when he opens them again his eyes are full black, his mouth twisted in a smile, and he wriggles on Derek’s lap, coming closer.

“Are you _really_ trying to tell me you’re willing to give yourself to me in exchange for his life? He’s nothing, Derek. Just a boy, a broken boy, who’ll be even more broken when I leave him and take you over.”

The demon looks suspicious and amused, as if Derek is a child telling him how he’ll put an end to a war, but Derek smirks at him.

“Yes. Maybe I care about this boy, or maybe I just don’t want to have to deal with whatever is coming after you’re done with him. The point is you can have me. I’m allowing it. How many times in your existence has a being like me offered you this? You can have it. You just have to leave Stiles alone, and not kill him using me. That’s all I ask.”

“All you ask?” the demon questions, moving again, and Derek can’t really stop his body’s reaction, because _consciously_ he knows this is not Stiles, but it’s Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles’ body, and Stiles’ voice.

It’s all Derek has wanted for so long, and was so completely sure he’d never have. And it’s _here_.

“I can think of a few other things you might want, _sour wolf_.”

And that does it, because his eyes are back to Stiles’ eyes, and he’s leaning closer, his voice soft and teasing, his arms around his neck, and his mouth is suddenly _on_ Derek’s, and he doesn’t want to push him away, he wants him closer, he wants _Stiles_ so bad it _hurts,_ and that’s why he lets it happen.

He lets the demon press closer to him, moving over him. Lets him kiss him, and even kisses the thing back, using Stiles’ mouth to drive him crazy. He lets the demon’s arms – _Stiles’_ arms – come around his neck and pull him closer, moving, their erections brushing together, the demon moaning in his mouth, while Derek bites his lips to stop any sounds from escaping him.

It’s so, so wrong, and so not how he wanted this to happen.

He wishes he had had the time to make this different.

They move together, breathing hard and fast, and the demon is whispering in his ear, things Stiles thought about when he was alone, how he would touch himself at night, or in the shower, Derek’s name on his lips more often than not, even when he was bruised or hurt or crying.

“He loves you” the demon finally whispers, and that sends Derek over the edge, and he loses himself – so much so he can’t even feel like himself anymore.

**X**

When Stiles comes to, his body is rocking forwards at its own accord and he’s taken aback at what is happening, taken by an orgasm he doesn’t even know how it happened.

There are hands around his waist and a mouth on his neck, and he tries to pull away, confused and fearful and his body can’t decide on what to feel – it’s too much.

Just… _too much_.

“You do taste really sweet” the mouth by his neck says and he recognizes it’s Derek – who was in his room not ten minutes ago, telling him he cared about him.

He feels _light_. Pushing the other man away gently, he looks into his eyes and he _knows_ there’s something so very wrong with this, because he’s light. Light as he hadn’t felt in days, weeks even.

It’s gone.

The demon’s gone and he sees in Derek’s eyes the second the thing realizes he understood what is going on.

“And not only sweet but smart too” Derek’s green eyes go black, and Stiles tries to get away, but the hold on his waist tightens.

He wants to scream at Derek that he’s an idiot, that he’s putting all of them in danger, that he could handle dying to keep them safe, but with the power of an Alpha? They are all dead meat!

“Let him go!” he screams, and the thing laughs – a foreign sound in Derek, he realizes he’s never heard Derek laugh, so he doesn’t even know if this is all that much different from Derek’s true laughter.

“I don’t think so. You see, the beast made me promise I wouldn’t kill you, and I won’t, but I can sure enjoy you, can’t I?” the demon smirks, his eyes going green again, and he shifts them on the bed, putting Stiles under him, trying to tear his clothes, “If you keep your eyes open, you can even pretend it’s him. He’s here, you know, screaming and kicking at me to let you go. Should have made sure that keeping _away_ from you was part of the deal too, not just keeping you alive” the demon says, before trying to put his mouth on Stiles’, but he can’t quite manage because the door to Stiles’ room opens, and there’s a shot.

Derek’s body falls to the side, and Stiles scrambles off the bed, looking at the werewolf on the ground, and at his dad by the door.

The body is shaking, and when he turns around, still on the floor, they see it’s shaking in laughter.

With a jump Derek is up again, looking at the graze on his shoulder.

“Wolfsbane-laced bullets? Really? What do you expect to do, kill Derek and then what? You kill him and I go back to Stiles, and you kill _him_ and I move on to you, daddy Stilinski” the thing is smirking, until he’s not, because there’s a hissing sound, and suddenly there’s an arrow sticking through his stomach, and Chris Argent on the window sill.

“I don’t think so, _demon_ ” says Chris, and Stiles is shocked, looking at all the blood.

That’s still Derek they are shooting.

“Ha!” the things tries to laugh, but they can see in Derek’s face that something is wrong – wrong for the demon, “What…” it begins, but doesn’t quite manages to say anything before Argent puts another arrow in him, making him fall forward, on his knees.

“You’re trapped” Argent explains with a smile and another arrow makes its way to Derek’s body.

There a huge roar, an Alpha roar, and Derek is left on the ground to suffer. The demon no longer taking over him.

“Derek!” Stiles screams and falls on his knees in front of Derek, supporting his slumping body, careful of the arrows sticking out of him, “Come on, we can pull them out, we can burn whatever it is and then you can heal. Do it!” he says desperately, but Derek looks at him, pale and sickly already, and yet, he’s smiling.

“We can’t. It’s here. It’s trapped. And it’s dying with me” he finishes with the same smile, his head falling on Stiles’ shoulder.

“No!” the boy screams, mindless of the hunter and his dad in the room, “No, no, nononono NO! Derek, look at me, DEREK!” he calls, turning so that Derek’s face is on the same level as his, the man is even more pale than before, his breathing harsh and broken, his whole body swaying.

“It’s okay” he whispers, not because he thinks the others won’t hear, but because he doesn’t really have the strength to talk, “It’s okay. You’re safe” he says, and Stiles kisses him, not caring about the blood or the tears that he doesn’t even know if it’s his or Derek’s.

He listens to Derek’s breathing, mouth to his, until he doesn’t anymore.

There’s screaming, desperate and loud and awful, and there’s kicking and panic and tears and blood.

He doesn’t realize he’s the one doing all of that until his dad pulls him into his arms.

Derek’s body is on the floor of his room, lifeless.

He died to save Stiles.

That’s all there is to it.

**X**

There had been two occasions where a werewolf had tried to get themselves involved with a demon to save a human, and only one of them really worked.

The first, it had been a Beta, trying to save his mother. The demon took over, killed his own mother and at least five other people, before the Beta had managed to find a hunter to cut him in half.

The second had worked – an Alpha had offered herself to a demon to save her mate. The man lived, and she was able to contain the demon long enough for it to die with her – killed by her own mate, cut in half to save the rest of the pack, to keep them all safe.

It didn’t say what had happened to the mate, though, so Stiles isn’t betting his money on a happy ending.

Chris Argent’s suspicion was that an Alpha had enough power in him to actually hold the demon in her to die.

Like Derek had done.

Lydia agreed with that, but Stiles’ father was the one who actually got a faraway look in his eyes and said that he didn’t think it was only about power, but about how much the person cared about the one he or she was saving.

Stiles doesn’t know if that is comforting or terrifying, and he doesn’t want to think about that.

Days pass by, and Stiles is pretty sure things are happening in those days, but he can’t really care. It feels… empty. Weird. He can’t quite grasp Derek is gone, and he keeps on waking up – in his father’s room, because he doesn’t think he could ever again sleep in his room – thinking it had all been a dream. Maybe the demon is still inside him playing tricks on his mind.

And then Scott calls him, or Lydia visits and Isaac comes over, and he knows it isn’t a lie, a trick, a game.

Derek is gone.

Derek had died saving him.

Why?

He can’t quite grasp it, can’t really understand _why_ he’d have done something like that – they didn’t share a profound bond, they weren’t together, he didn’t think Derek loved him.

Peter had come by twice to see him and his dad. The first one had been right after everything had happened, when the Sheriff came back from the Station, where they had pinned the demon’s crimes on Derek going psycho.

Their story was that Derek had actually gone into Stiles’ room and tried to kill him, and that’s when the Sheriff and Chris Argent found them, and shot Derek.

He had _died to save him_ , and his legacy would be that he was a crazy murdering psychopath, who had killed two teenagers, and tried to kill another.

The second time Peter visited was to let Stiles know he and Scott would probably have a fight that night – the Alpha was down, and Jackson was too new to this life to actually try and beat one of them. Peter told him not to worry, that he didn’t want to be Alpha anyway.

Stiles gets mildly curious at that, but doesn’t question, and doesn’t ask anything. Scott is the new Alpha in Beacon Hills, and that is that.

His father tells him at some point that Peter confesses to him he had supported Derek’s decision.

He was his last living relative, the only one who should care about Derek unconditionally, and he had pretty much just told Derek that killing himself was the best option.

Stiles doesn’t say anything to that.

He can’t _feel_ enough to say anything.

He feels as if he is distant from everyone. As if people talk to him and he responds, but he doesn’t quite know what to do anymore, what to say, what would be right.

He had killed, he remembered, and yet it wasn’t him.

Derek had died _for_ him, and Stiles can’t understand that either.

He keeps on saving things inside him, as if there is a safe place inside his head or his heart, where he can store all the emotions and panic and fear and everything until it is safe to deal with it.

His father wants him to look into professional help, but his answer is a smile, and a question of how, exactly, he would tell a psychiatrist what had happened to him.

He can’t.

His dad goes back to work after a week. Stiles doesn’t want to go back to school, just yet; he doesn’t think he can do it – not like this.

He needs… something. He needs catharsis. He needs to break down and cry, or maybe shout and scream and rage.

Maybe he needs to talk.

He can’t.

Isaac comes by two weeks after everything, his hair falling on his eyes, his half awkward stance; as if he isn’t sure Stiles can take his presence, a load of books in his arms.

“I brought you your homework” he states, and Stiles looks at all the books, and the notes and the sheets of papers, and feels as if all the air in the room has disappeared.

People had _died_. Teenagers. No one would bring Boyd and Erica their homework. He had been used to _kill_. To murder. With an axe.

Derek… Derek isn’t here anymore. He’d never be again.

He is gone, forever, never ever coming back, gone.

A pile of bones and rotting skin. Buried somewhere with wolfsbane around him.

Gone.

“I…” he starts but the words fail him. Isaac stares for a few seconds, and then sighs.

“They told me not to try and make you talk, and I won’t. Scott would skin me alive if he thought I was pressuring you into anything.” Stiles snorts at that, a halfhearted attempt at normalcy, and Isaac tries very hard to smile – he doesn’t quite manage it, but it’s a close thing, “They had him buried just at the border of the Hale property. Peter made sure it’d be a secret, so that the people in town wouldn’t…” he trails off, shrugging, and Stiles nods his understanding: so that people wouldn’t desecrate his resting place.

People are mean like that, even without a demon. They’d profane a tomb or a headstone, trying to hurt the dead, but the living would be the ones who suffered.

If there is one, just one, positive side to all of this was that Derek, at least, isn’t suffering anymore.

Stiles gets up and takes his car keys from where they had been resting for days on his computer desk, handing them over to Isaac. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything, not even quietly, not even meeting the other boy’s eyes, but Isaac knows what he needs.

Maybe Isaac is the only one who got him these days.

They drive in silence, and Isaac stops the jeep just as the property began. Stiles gets out and passes by the house – being remodeled by Peter, apparently – but he doesn’t stop.

Only when he sees a single simple grey headstone does he stop walking, staring at it.

 _Pain cannot touch him anymore_.

There isn’t a date or a name or anything, only the sentence, making something inside Stiles _break_.

The first tear is a bit of a surprise – he hasn’t cried since that night in his room. He hadn’t shed a single tear, not for him, or for his father, for Erica, or Boyd, or for Derek. But now, seeing this… this piece of stone with a single sentence in it, he can _feel_.

And it enrages him.

“Why did you do this, you stupid werewolf? WHY?” he starts quietly and ends shouting, kicking at the headstone.

 _Pain cannot touch him anymore_.

“Why did you do that? Mess it all up? It was my fault, Derek, you shouldn’t have suffered for it! I… I didn’t see. I couldn’t. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry, God, I’m so sorry, please, I… So sorry” he is on his knees, tears falling down as he mumbles apologies and threats, shouts and whispers and a strange mix of the two, because he can’t decide on what to feel first.

Why is he gone?

Why?

“He was broken.”

The voice behind him surprises Stiles, and he turns around slowly, seeing Peter staring at the headstone too.

 _Pain cannot touch him anymore_.

“You let him do it” Stiles accuses, his voice harsh and he is shaking.

Peter doesn’t deny it, and it makes Stiles even angrier.

“You were supposed to care for him. You ruined his life, killed his sister, made him kill you, and then you come back, and pretend to be cured or to be fine, and then you _let him do it_.”

“I did what I wished someone had done for me.”

 _Pain cannot touch him anymore_.

Stiles keeps staring at Peter until the man looks at him in the eye, tearing his eyes away from the headstone.

“You could have fixed him. With time and effort, and working really hard, and never giving up” Peter smiles a bit at him, “But you never really _give_ up, so you could have done it. He was lost and broken, and a part of it really should be my fault, but it isn’t. Because I wasn’t in my right mind when I killed Laura, just like you weren’t you when the demon killed those kids. I didn’t really know what I was doing, I was insane. I’m not completely in my right mind even now, but I’m better, I can live with it. Derek couldn’t.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, simply staring at the man who looks back at the headstone.

“Derek was actually a great kid. Caring and a little spoiled, Laura was always there to defend him. He was a bit of a mama’s boy too, until the Argent bitch broke him. Truly, completely destroyed the carefree kid I loved. Laura tried, but she couldn’t fix him and I wasn’t able to help him either. When he killed me, he lost himself. That angry brooding shell? That wasn’t Derek, not the Derek I remembered from before the coma and the catatonic state and the healing. That wasn’t Derek. That was the monster Kate Argent made out of fire and ashes and lust” Peter stops talking then and looks at Stiles again, “You could have helped. He cared for you, could have come to love you, and yet it wasn’t meant to be. This demon would have taken your life, and your dad’s. And Derek would have gone on living knowing he could have spared you and your suffering. The moment Argent showed him that Bestiary and that stupid story: that was when we lost him – because if he had known he could have saved you and didn’t… Stiles, what would have been left of him would be worse than what I was when I first woke up.”

He takes a few steps and offers his hand to Stiles, who takes it warily, standing up.

“I told him it was the right thing to do. He saved you. He _died_ saving you, and that’s what was best _for him_. He can’t suffer anymore now.” The man looks at the headstone again, “I wish someone had done the same for me, letting me die for someone I loved before having killed the children I would gladly died for.” He turns back to Stiles and for the first time the boy sees something that it’s not mockery or sarcasm or practicality on the man’s expression – it’s pure, unadulterated sadness, “Pain cannot touch him anymore” he finishes with a pained smile, and turns his back on Stiles, leaving him.

He sits on the ground again, staring at the headstone until his eyes start hurting, and he cries.

For everything. He cries until he’s sore and aching and miserable and sleepy and hungry.

He _feels_ all of it, and most of all, he feels the pain.

Derek is free from it – they are not.

When he tries to get up, he almost stumbles, but a hand catches him by the arm, and looking beside him he sees Isaac.

He tries to smile, his face wet and red, and the other boy manages to answer.

They leave the headstone behind, but he knows Derek will be with them forever.

 _Pain cannot touch him anymore_.

**X**

He will never be really okay again, and he’s at least glad no one expects him to. He doesn’t really go out if his way to avoid anyone, but it takes months for him to reach out first, to make the first contact – and yet, his friends are there for him.

At first, they treat him as if he’s made out of glass. Even his father is careful around him. He sells their house, buys one that it’s completely different from their old home – all of their memories from his mother left behind, because even if she died she didn’t suffer through it in Stiles’ room, where the blood stains were visible for days.

He doesn’t go to therapy because he can’t, but he writes a lot. Mostly a series of question he’ll never have the answer to.

Scott handles leadership better than Stiles thought he could, and Peter is actually helpful most of the time. It’s the first time they are in actual danger from some rogue hunters that Stiles comes out of his shell and _helps_.

Derek’s _saved him_.

He might as well do something with it.

He doesn’t heal, but he manages. Some days are better, others are worse, but mostly they are normal. When the time for college comes he refuses to leave home, and commutes to a nearby college – he has no idea what he wants to do with his life, but he has to go on.

Isaac is always there. Commuting with him, never leaving. Loyal to a fault and taking everything Stiles can give him.

Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to give more than he is now, but not yet.

He tries to be better though.

Derek deserves it, even if he does not.

Life goes on for those who aren’t free from the pain after all.

* * *

 

I'd like to thank you all for reading it, and, most specially, thank Emily Persephone for making [this BEAUTIFUL](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULuYropFnKk) (perfect, actually) song inspired in Come Out and Play.

You can listen to it on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULuYropFnKk), and find all of Emily's work on her [Youtube Channel](https://www.youtube.com/user/Lilllith), or her [Facebook page.](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Persephone/218254501567542)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end.  
> Now I’m gonna go and write all the fluff in the world because this left me e WRECK.  
> Let me know what you thought of it.  
> REVIEW!


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